Sometimes...sometimes I do. Sometimes I feel something, deep in my heart, like the constant clicking of a key struggling to turn in a keyhole. It clicks and click and clicks and clicks, but still can’t be unlocked. copyright protection8ＰＥＮＡＮＡPnObGDHObm

I guess that should’ve been a sign. I should’ve known back then; from the sudden change of subjects, to the weird questions about my memories.copyright protection8ＰＥＮＡＮＡs96xTMXXfR

Do you feel anything? He’d ask. copyright protection8ＰＥＮＡＮＡRomtXrZQ7V

What do you mean? Is what I’d reply. copyright protection8ＰＥＮＡＮＡlXi98ZNPOY

When you look at me. Do you feel anything?copyright protection8ＰＥＮＡＮＡcg7jO15LZk

Like what?copyright protection8ＰＥＮＡＮＡDQJZkGrkxz

He’d look away, briefly, and then gaze back at me with a distanced expression. Like fear, for example. copyright protection8ＰＥＮＡＮＡfTwx2FxPvl

When he said that, I felt it. The turning of the key. It was slight, slow even, but nonetheless, painful. copyright protection8ＰＥＮＡＮＡOHCV0qX5bW

Can you mix fear with love? I feel like I did. I feel like I didn’t know what it means to love, that when I felt something towards him, I immediately assumed that’s what it was: love. copyright protection8ＰＥＮＡＮＡqPNaP7Rgro

But it wasn’t. It wasn’t anything remotely close to it.copyright protection8ＰＥＮＡＮＡQGimek2Lax

Ever since he asked me that, I’ve asked myself, why would he say that. Why, why, why, why. No one replied, and I spent months with him, lost, but so utterly “in love”. copyright protection8ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7ZfJUg9Sml

Until one day. Somewhere, deep in my mind, a little voice finally answered, and said: He’s a murderer, of course. Why do you think he asked you that?copyright protection8ＰＥＮＡＮＡPNaCXZJOgb